


Sightings

by SmartMouth314 (DoctorGershwinPotter)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Gen, Homelessness, M/M, PTSD mentions, post AOU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3933793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorGershwinPotter/pseuds/SmartMouth314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a tall man traveling from DC to Brooklyn. A tall man that keeps one of his hands in his pockets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sightings

The Smithsonian Museum, Washington DC

The security at the Smithsonian hadn’t changed much in the wake of the events in DC. No one was more surprised by the lack of increased measures than veteran security guard Umlika Eman. In her 35 years of roaming the halls, she’d seen innumerable over-reactions. Yet now, when senators and secret agents had been exposed as weird science Nazis, and information on the internet pointed to incredible government conspiracies, nothing. 

Umlika internally shrugged. She had more important things to worry about. Like her new granddaughter and the check engine light in her car. She walked slowly, scanning the Captain America exhibit. A group of middle-schoolers pushed against the ropes at the Howling Commandoes uniform display. She didn’t want to dampen their enthusiasm, but she started toward them, anyway. Their teacher, whom she had initially not seen, as he was hardly taller than his students, managed to wrangle them before she needed to intervene. She smiled and went back to sweeping the hall with her gaze.

As she panned left, she took in a tall sloppily-dressed man. It’s not like the museum had a dress code, but most people were tourists, wearing shorts and polos to beat the August humidity. A full hooded sweatshirt, long jeans and dirty sneakers seemed a bit out of place. The man stood in front of the Fallen Hero display. Umlika saw a lock of dirty hair escaping the pulled up hood. She was no expert, but the set of his shoulders, his hands in the front pocket, looked tense. Upset maybe. 

Umlika internally shrugged. Maybe he was a veteran. Those were the guests she liked the most. The veterans who came in with their kids, or spouses, or friends and just reveled in the celebration of American history. Then there were the veterans who came in alone. Those were the ones who made her sad. Whether they were reminiscing or grieving, Umlika tried to give them space. Tried not to make them feel like they were being watched, allowed them their privacy.

She turned away, giving the man a wide berth, allowing him his moment. Besides, it was nearly her break time and she wanted to call her son, tell him to keep sending pictures of her beautiful granddaughter. 

 

Jenny’s Diner, Outside Baltimore, MD

It was about an hour before closing time, but the diner was empty. D’Andrea Jackson considered sending Jay, the cook, home early. She knew he took care of his parents and he’d been on the clock since before lunch. She looked around, out the windows at the pouring rain. She knew her dad wouldn’t mind her letting Jay go, so she pushed open the door into the kitchen and popped her head in. Jay was cleaning the griddle.

“Hey,” she said. He didn’t respond.

“Hey!” She shouted, remembering his hearing loss. He whipped his head toward her and smiled.

“What’s up, D?” he asked.

“Why don’t you head home? The kitchen’s clean, and it’s pouring. I’ll finish up the floors and then lock up.” She didn’t yell, since she knew Jay could read lips.

“Mmmmm,” he considered, checking his watch. “Your dad okay with that?” His Bostonian native accent colored his words.

“You know he is.” She smiled. “Go home.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.” He untied his apron. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you didn’t want me around.”

She shook her head and leaned back, letting the door shut. She grabbed the old broom they kept behind the counter and began cleaning up for the night. She nestled her earbuds in her ears and had just picked out a play list when she heard the tinkling of the bells attached to the front door. She looked up to see a man, dripping wet, entering the diner.

He was tall, kinda dirty, but mostly just wet, his clothes dripping onto the welcome mat. He had one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, and the other pushed the hood off of his head. “You open?”

“Ummmm,” she replied, kind worried now. Had Jay left? “Hold on.” She craned her head to the open part of the wall separating the dining room and the kitchen. It was empty in the back. “I just sent my cook home. I’m sorry.”

The man nodded and turned to go. She considered the storm outside. She knew it would blow over soon. And Dad would not be pleased with her if she turned away a customer. Especially one that looked like he needed help. Plus, they were technically still open.

“But if all you want is breakfast food, I can make you up a meal real quick,” she said, internally concerned about being alone in the building with a stranger. She could manage herself well enough. She shook the thought away. 

“Ya Sure?” The man asked, halfway out the door.

“Yeah. No problem.” D’Andrea smiled at him. “How do you take your eggs?”

 

Back Alley, between 8th and 9th, Philladelphia, PA

A patrol car rolled by, slowly. It was late. Late enough the liquor stores were closed. That was usually when Taylor Polanski decided it was time for bed. She was huddled up, using a coat from the shelter like a blanket. She debated going back for a cot for the night, but she figured she couldn’t have passed for sober, and so they probably wouldn’t let her in. It was fine, it was late summer and the night was mild. She’d eaten her fill. She’d let someone less fortunate than her have the cot tonight. She secured her valuables to her waist, under her shirt, palmed her knife and settled down, leaning her head backward against the brick wall. She had just closed her eyes when a man walked by the alley.

He was tall, wearing a hoodie despite the pleasant weather. One hand in his front pocket, he used the other to pull a ball cap low over his face. His shoes were scuffed, and his jeans were torn in a few places. Ah, Taylor thought, this is who needs that cot.

“Hey,” she called out softly, not wanting to startle the man. She knew how she reacted to people yelling at her. It brought back horribly memories. Memories of sand and gunfire and death and blood. 

The man stopped, turned toward her, but not before scanning his six. She pegged him for a fellow vet and smiled. “You sober?” she asked, only slightly slurring. He didn’t answer, just looked at her. His shoulders were tensed. She recognized the stance of someone preparing to run. She got just a little chill up her back. “I’m only asking cuz there’s a shelter near here. Warm cot, not too soft, blanket, shower, and breakfast in the mornin’. Except, you can’t get in unless you’re sober.”

He looked at her, nodded slightly, then checked left and right. “There’s also a 24 hour Mcdonald’s down the way. Near the train station.” He nodded at her again, and turned to keep walking.  
She leaned her head back again, slipping in the blessed dreamless sleep that only cheap liquor could provide.

“Thanks.”

 

30th Street Station, Philadelphia PA

Alicia Silva clocked in right on schedule. 1:58 am. She grinned as she realized who else was on shift.

“Hey Al! BIG AL!” David Smith called from the other end of the employee break room. “How’s brain surgery class going?” His feet were up on the table, ankles crossed. He leaned back in his chair, and spread his arms wide in greeting. 

“Hey Dave. Brain surgery class is fine. How’s your mom?” Alicia put her purse in her locker and started unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a lacy white undershirt.

“You know, harping on me. Tryin’ ta get me ta apply for whatever thing you did that got you inta college.”

Alicia pulled her uniform polo over her head, cursing the unisex shape of the shirt. Unisex did not, in her opinion, mean for both men and women. It mean for people without large breasts. “That’s a scholarship for women of color. I’m thinking you might not qualify.” She reached up to re-do her ponytail. 

“Yeah. Not smart enough neither.” He grinned and got up, throwing away his soda can.

“Ay!” she exclaimed. “There is literally a recycling bin right there!”

“Whoa. Okay. Lo sienso.” He bent to get the can and put in in the blue bin.

“SienTO, with a T.” She corrected, grabbing her employee ID and clipping it to the lapel of her polo. She tucked in her shirt and pulled a belt out of her locker. 

“Lo siento.” Dave said, with only a mildly horrible accent.

“Perfecto,” she said, grinning at him and rolling toward the door, her short arms pushing powerfully on her wheels, knowing that if she wasn’t behind the counter soon, her boss would be in here looking for her. 

“Thanks…ah…gracias.” Dave followed her out.

She sat behind the counter and went through preliminary procedures, checking the computer, the drawer, swiping her ID to sign in. Dave sat next to here, taking the PROCEED TO NEXT WINDOW sign down. They chatted amiably about her classes at UPenn and his new idea for his bike. Their manager did the rounds, checking in on them, checking the self-service kiosks, and walking back out of sight. 

The place was never empty, but it sure was quiet at this time of night. A train came in, and Alicia noted the uncanny juxtaposition between bedraggled families and crisp businessmen in suits, as they exited the station. Even so, they all wore the weariness of the time on their faces, in the droop of their shoulders and their shuffling gaits. 

The automatic doors opened allowing the entrance of passengers bound for…she checked the schedule…either NYC or Boston. Most passengers drifted past her, gripping suitcases or briefcases or backpacks. They had prepaid for and printed their tickets online. Others headed toward the self-service kiosks, quickly and efficiently swiping their credit cards, and heading toward security. 

Alicia noticed a man walking slowly, carefully. Maybe he was nervous, he kept looking around. His ball cap obscured most of his face, and his hoodie hid his shape, but Alicia could see he was tall. Hmmm, Alicia thought. No luggage. He glanced up to check the train schedule on the big board displayed over the ticket counter. He seemed to make up his mind and looked around him. He headed toward the self-service kiosks. Alicia stopped watching to help answer an older woman’s question. No. There was no smoking allowed on the trains. Honestly. This is 2015.

Alicia accepted the comment card from the lady. The AMTRAK logo bouncing around on her screen disappeared as she began to log the complaint. Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed the man with no luggage walking up to David’s window. 

“I need a train to New York.” He pushed some crumpled cash under the window with one hand, the other in the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Sure,” Dave smiled at him and started clicking on the computer. “I’ve got some seats on one to Penn Station leaving in,” his eyes flicked to wall clock, “seventeen minutes. Will that be coach or business?”

“Coach.” The man’s voice was inflectionless. His shoulders were tensed. Alicia’s neck ached just looking at him. 

“Great, that’ll be $45. Arrival at 4:49. Can I get your first and last name? And do you have an Amtrak guest reward card?”

“Michael Johnson. No” The man pulled an ID out of his pocket. No wallet.

Dave glanced at the man, taking in his ball cap. As he printed the ticket, he smiled. “A little far from home for a Dodger’s fan, eh?” He grinned, trying to engage the man, like the employee handbook instructed. Alicia winced at the look on the man’s face. 

Completely flat. No response.

“Uh. Have a nice trip.” Dave stammered.

The man with no luggage nodded and walked away. 

 

Superfast Deli, Rogers Avenue, Brooklyn, New York City, NY

Malaya Reyes took her time. She was tired and her back hurt. She gently lifted the produce out of the wooden crate and onto the fruit stand. The sun was rising and she needed to finish unloading these soon if she wanted to catch the dawn jogging crowd. She yelled inside for Bayani to start the coffee.

She put the empty crate back on the truck and picked up another, this one full of plums. She hitched it up against her hip and started unloading it onto the tilted table. A sharp kink in her back caught her off guard and she spilled the crate out on the sidewalk. Several people walking by skipped to get out of the way, and one man in shiny shoes shouted “Watch it!”

Malaya dropped to the ground as the plums rolled and she cursed in Tagalog. Bayani yelled from inside the deli, and Malaya replied curtly as she scrabbled to get the fruit back into the crate. She pushed her too-long bangs out of her eyes and caught sight of a man in her way. She saw his dirty, nearly-falling-apart sneakers first, and from the ground, he seemed very tall as she scanned upward, taking in his ripped jeans, hooded sweatshirt, and unshaven face. He had several plums in his hand caught against his chest, having apparently caught them before the fall. His other hand was in his pocket.

He moved to empty the plums into her crate by his feet. They tumbled gently onto the others and Malaya smiled at the man as she continued to gather the stragglers on the ground. “Thank you.”

The man nodded and glanced around. Malaya finished gathering the plums and moved to start arranging them on the stand. 

“Hey, uh,” the man started to say, gaining Malaya’s attention. His shoulders were held high above a natural stance, and Malaya once more glanced down and up at his attire. His hood and long brown hair whipped as a truck barreled past the tiny deli. “Do you know what happened to the old Crown Heights Apartments. Over there on Nostrand Ave?”

Malaya thought about that. She didn’t think she’d ever heard of such a place. “No. Sorry.” She moved to the truck to get out the packages of cherries.  
“Thanks,” the man huffed, turning away. 

“Wait!” Malaya suddenly shouted. Perhaps louder than necessary. The man turned back around. “Here. For you.” Malaya grabbed a plum off the table, one of the few unbruised ones he had saved. She tossed it to him underhanded. His hand shot out of his pocket and plucked it from the air to his far right, where her terrible aim had sent it. She took a quick moment to be impressed before getting back to work. She had to finish this, send the truck on its way, and then get inside to box the salads Bayani would be finishing soon. 

Behind her back, the man looked down at the plum, back at Malaya, and took a bite out of the small fruit. It was perfectly ripe. 

 

Brooklyn Self Storage, Nostrand Ave, Brooklyn, New York City, NY

A bright red airplane swooped across the sky. With a sharp clatter it burst into the blue, red, and yellow city skyline, marvelously out of proportion. Shi Tian added to the minor din with explosion noises and the expected screaming of the masses. “Ahhhhhhhh! Save us Avengers!” she whisper-screamed. In her other hand she flew a light-up Iron Man into the LEGO rubble. Shi dropped the plane and picked up a Thor action figure who was far too small for the scene.

The electric buzz that signaled someone had walked into the tiny lobby sounded and Shi jumped up, running out of the back office to join her brother behind the counter. Chen glanced from the front door toward her and made shooing motions but Shi, as usual, ignored him and attempted to see over the counter. A man was walking in, looking around. He was a tall man, Shi thought. Well, everyone was tall to Shi, but he was taller than average. 

Shi put her hands up on the counter’s edge, stood on her tip toes to looked taller and asked “How can we help you today?” Chen looked down at her, trying not to grin, and looked back to the man echoing “How can I help you?” She noticed the man had hair all over his face. It was kind of long and, as far as Shi was concerned, kind of gross. She took in his ball cap, covering his long brown hair, his dirty hoodie with his hands in the front pocket, and guessed he wasn’t here to rent a space. 

“This building. It used to be an apartment building,” the man said, glancing around. 

“Uh,” Chen looked a little confused. “It’s been like this since I can remember. My parents bought it before I was born.”

“Are they around? Or anyone who remembers when this building was called Crown Heights Apartments?” The man looked sad, Shi thought. Or maybe angry. She considered going back into the office to finish the scene she had built.

“Ah, I don’t know. Maybe try the library near here. I know it’s been around since, like, the 60’s.” Chen told him, shrugging. 

That was what Shi had been waiting for. She loved making Chen look bad. “Actually, Mom says that Grandfather bought the building because it was foreclosed on by the bank,” her high musical voice chimed. She had overheard her mother talking on the phone about it. “They tried to make it better, but when the property values went up, they had to convert. No one wanted to rent old apartments anymore. Plus something about zoning.”

Chen looked at her in surprise. Shi knew that Chen never observed anything, too distracted by the girls he tried to flirt with or his quest for video game domination. Chen never listened to Mom anyway. But Shi listened. She liked to know things. She was young, not stupid. 

“Oh, huh.” The man took his hand out of his pocket and rubbed his jaw. Shi thought he just looked tired now. “Uh, thanks.” He started toward the door dropping something into the garbage pail. He opened the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk.  
Shi trotted back toward the office, pleased with herself. Now…where was she? She picked up her Black Widow Barbie and began again.

 

Starbucks, Norstrand Avenue, Brooklyn, New York City, NY

Condensation rolled down Otuekongabasi Jakande’s frappucino. She gazed out at the sidewalk and watched the people around her. She loved watching people. Across the street someone caused a minor disruption in the flow of pedestrians when they exited from a glass door front. He was a tall man, but that was all Basi noticed before the man sitting next to her at the window bar caught her attention. 

He had a small black coffee, steaming and untouched in front of him. He was reading the paper propped up in front of his face. Now, though, he was talking to himself. “He’s left the storage place, heading north. Confirm dark sweatshirt, jeans, ball cap. Cap has an emblem. I can’t see it.”

Well, this is weird, Basi thought, scooting minutely away from the man. Deciding it was time, she picked up her drink, checking her watch and heading out the door to work. She glanced back at the man and saw him folding up his paper, a weird clear tablet of some sort had a picture of a man with long dark hair on it, as wells as what she thought might be a street map in the corner, two green dots on it blinking. 

She shook her head, throwing her straw wrapper away in the garbage pail by the door. She pushed the door open, holding it for a woman with a cane. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, and turned left, heading toward the hospital. Across the street she saw some sort of commotion. Two men were running, one chasing the other, and the man in front dipped and weaved through pedestrians. The man giving pursuit was knocking people out of his way, but still losing ground. Basi stopped, despite the time, watching the events unfold. 

People jostled around her, but the movement of street traffic slowed as others caught sight of the chase. The man in front, his sweater askew stopped abruptly as he saw something ahead, skidding to a halt. He threw his hands out of his pocket to steady himself as he lost momentum, and Basi saw something gleaming in his hand. Wait, was it in his hand? No. It was…a glove? Maybe. Something metal, anyway. Basi took several steps forward not believing what she was seeing as several men in black tactical gear poured out of several seemingly empty shop fronts.

An enormous blond man in clean pressed jeans and a white t-shirt ran out from behind a corner, easily winding his way through foot traffic with the same fluidity as the man being pursued. The man with the metal glove made a move like he might jump onto one of the cars rumbling past, leaping into the air. But the blond man threw himself forward, tackling him to the ground. Cars on Norstrand Ave stopped while drivers gaped at the unfolding scene. Basi rushed forward, her ER instincts kicking in. Moving that fast and crashing onto concrete would definitely result in a concussion if the first man landed on his head. Car traffic essentially stopped, Basi skidded between a taxi and Taurus, coming up on the violent scene. Pedestrians had cleared out, and the men in black gear and helmets had large guns pointed toward the two men on the ground. They were grappling but not seeming to injure each other. With a large thud and a strange metallic clang, the blond man pinned the man with the glove on the ground.

“Bucky! It’s me! Stand down!” The blond man shouted.

The other man stopped struggling. Basi could barely make out what he said. “Steve?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not familiar with any of these actual places, so if it seems weird or something's off, let me know. I searched extensively for the original location and name of Bucky's childhood home. Anyone know it? The street names in here are real, but I have no idea if they're accurate.


End file.
